The light was fading fast, that golden hour slipping away, as I steadied my Sony on the tripod – a solid footing necessary on this rough terrain. I’d chosen this spot, a quiet rise amongst the Wichitas, to capture the sun’s farewell. The wispy clouds, painted with the last embers of day, seemed to reach towards a deepening blue. The crisp, dry grasses whispered a silent benediction, and the air, clean and sharp, carried the scent of approaching evening.
This image echoes the spirit of Momaday’s “Rainy Mountain” and stark landscapes – the enduring presence of these granite boulders, shaped by time and weather, speaks of a profound connection to place. Like Jacobson, I sought to reveal the strata, the layers of history etched into the stone. And as Harjo writes, all things are interwoven; here, the sunset, the rocks, the grasses, the sky – a testament to God’s artistry, a place for quiet reflection, a space for gratitude. I felt a prayer welling up from deep within, a simple thankfulness for this moment, this land, this beauty.
Carl Ray